Recover, Relapse, Repeat
by la.haine.pacifique
Summary: She just wanted to be pretty and strong, and she was. Until she wasn't. Fem!Harry, Harry Has A Twin!, OOC, Non-Magical AU. Warning for Eating Disorders, Mental Illness, and potential Self-Harm. Chapter 2: Hazel takes a deeper dive, and this is how it happens. But who helps Hazel find her way down?
1. Eyesore

**12 years. 135 cm. 45 kg.**

Hazel and Heather had everything in common. The same likes and dislikes, loves and hates. They shared talents and failures, the same eye twitch and habit of drumming their fingers. One twin's bright giggle would set off the other's. Their noses scrunched the same, they dressed the same.

Hazel and Heather had everything in common. Except they didn't.

Heather was tall and fit, her baby weight already non existent at 12. She had dark green eyes that sparkled and curly red hair, beautifully pale skin dotted with freckles, and the beginnings of an hourglass figure. Perfect cupid's bow lips, the exact shade of pink they should be, and wonderfully perfect teeth.

Hazel thought that maybe she hated Heather. The cold metal of the scale bit into her feet as a nurse scribbled something down. She was shuffled off with her thoughts.

She knew what everyone said. 135 centimeters and 45 kilos. Short and fat. And dark. Thick, black eyebrows and thick, untamable hair. No freckles. The beginnings of acne. Plain, hazel eyes.

The doctor ushered her into the office, and Hazel found herself trudging over reluctantly. She tuned out all of it. She knew what he was saying - that she was too heavy, that she needed more exercise and less food. She knew that. She did.

Dr. Slughorn passed her a journal, forcing her to pay attention again.

"Here, Hazel. I want you to start recording how much you're eating, okay? Write down what you eat and how you're feeling. In a couple weeks we can sit down and see if there's any patterns and do something about it."

Hazel just nodded numbly before excusing herself. She barely remembered to grab the journal.

xxxxx

 **46.2 kg.**

Hazel ate when she was bored. And when she was lonely. And when she was tired. And when she was sad. And angry. And happy.

She liked food. Especially chips and crisps and biscuits.

Was she going to admit this to Dr. Slughorn?

Absolutely not.

xxxxx

 **47 kg.**

Dr. Slughorn put her on a diet. She was given mandatory gym time with Ms. Hooch.

Hazel wasn't sure if she wanted to beat Slughorn with a bat more than she wanted to beat herself.

Her food was monitored, and she was only allowed certain things. She had to jog.

Jogging.

She didn't even _own_ running shoes!

Heather did, but Hazel's fat feet didn't fit in them.

Hazel's fat didn't fit in much, honestly. She'd have to ask Sev to take her shopping again. Which translated to asking Heather to ask Sev. He gave into her so much more. Hazel knew why, and she was sure she hated his refusal to admit to his favoritism more than the favoritism. Or maybe she just hated him, too.

xxxxx

 **13 years. 140 cm. 43 kg.**

Summer was always the worst. The lull in boarders gave her fewer people to talk to, which lead to increasing amounts of boredom. Increasing amounts of boredom lead to her browsing through four months of food diaries.

That was how Heather found her - sitting cross legged on her bed, scribbling notes on correlations between her moods and eating habits, how much she weighed, how much she jogged, and how many calories she'd had.

"Geez, Hay, Slughorn still isn't letting up on your diet?" she asked, flinging herself down on the extra bed space.

Hazel wanted to reply, but she caught a glimpse of bone thin wrists and dainty arms. Heather was just so petite. Petite and pretty.

Hate rose up in her throat like bile, burning its way up so forcefully she almost choked.

"Yeah," she replied quietly. "He's hoping I'll have a growth spurt that'll even it all out. If not, I might have to do more than just jogging."

And Heather just smiled blindingly at her, patting her thigh. "You can do it, Hay, not a doubt! If Sluggyboy griefs you about any of it, you just let me know, yeah? I'll give him a piece of my mind."

Her eyebrows screwed up, but it didn't put a single dent in the positivity that poured off of her. Times like this, it was hard to hate her.

"Thanks," Hazel mumbled, getting right back to it. Heather left, eventually, going back to her own bed.

She was more grateful than she figured she should have been.

xxxxx

 **41 kg.**

They had a new girl this year, finally filling in the empty space in their dorm.

Tyra was _assigned_ to Ravenclaw Circle, though, just like Pansy had been. Heather and Hazel were space fillers, and Tyra didn't really get that.

"Well," Pansy started, "Each of the four circles is different. I mean, they all got the same stuff, and yeah they all house groups of people, but they're for different people. Me and you, see, we're problem kids of a certain sort."

Tyra nodded like she understood.

"I, for one, am an alcoholic in the making. Am I proud of that? Yes. Should I be? No. But that's a separate matter." Pansy waved her hand nonchalantly, like she hadn't just admitted to being a mini alcoholic. "You more than likely have a substance abuse problem, right?"

At least Tyra had the decency to look guilty. Hazel scoffed and looked away.

"And that would be because Ravenclaw houses us substance abusing degenerates. Everything and anything. We have alcoholics and pill poppers, stoners, and god knows what else. You can also find anything here. Uppers, downers, booze of every kind, MJ of any kind. The harder stuff is usually in the upper year houses, but it drifts down here sometimes." Hazel knew Pansy's face had screwed up a little. "Bad stuff, that."

Tyra was silent for a bit, presumably nodding, before asking her own questions. "What about the other three circles?"

The three girls collectively groaned.

"The Hufflepuffs are all emotionally damaged and/or mentally unstable," Pansy told her. "Mostly just crazies in general."

 _More like they get attention you want, you self-destructive psycho._

Heather's voice drifted over from the room's far side. "The slytherins are good kids, for the most part. That or impossible to place."

"They just haven't been caught, Heather," Hazel piped up. "Basically confirmed fact, that. But better than the Gryffindors. Adrenaline junkies and reckless prats."

A pillow caught her in the side.

"Hey!" Pansy shouted, lobbing a second pillow. "Blaise resembles that fact!"

The three girls dissolved into giggles, leaving a confused Tyra to just stand there.

xxxxx

"You don't look much like Heather. Are you guys really twins?"

Hazel's head snapped around.

Maysie, Tyra's younger sister.

Hazel scoffed. "You don't look much like your sister, either, kid."

The younger girl shrugged. "Yeah, but we're not twins."

The effort it took not to roll her eyes into the back of her head was astounding, truly.

"Not all twins are identical. Simple fact, that."

"Yeah, but there's the Weasley twins. They're identical, right? And Rosalynn and Elaine, they're identical. Someone told me that they switch places sometimes and…"

Hazel tuned her out, more focused on her stomach's forceful pangs. She'd eat later, she told herself.

xxxxx

Hazel was a liar. She didn't deny that. Well, she'd deny it to Slughorn, but that was it. Honest.

Her food diary sat on the desk between her and the doctor, neatly filled out and feasible.

Slughorn nodded, accepting it as the truth it wasn't.

"We'll check your weight next time."

xxxxx

 **36 kg.**

The school year ended the same way it always did - with tests and heat and the torture of shorts.

Hazel almost did a double take in the mirror. Her shorts weren't obnoxiously snug! There was actual wiggle room there!

Her stomach grumbled, but she pushed it aside.

 _I'm almost pretty!_


	2. Waltz Moore

**13\. 145 cm. 37 kg.**

If Hazel listed every place she would have rather been at that moment, she would have had a book's worth of them. But, no, there she was, sitting at a metal table across from Sev and Heather in the worst heat she'd ever felt. Granted, this was largely in part because of the blazing, Georgia sun. Well, that and she had donned trainers and jeans, topped by a layered style that she thought was pretty.

What a mistake that was.

The higher the sun rose, the more she just wanted to go back to the hotel. She had already sweated through her deodorant, she was overheated, and she was miserable. But, noooo. Sev and Heather were _fine._

Sev had this air of cool confidence, showing off in black cargo shorts and a nice polo. He looked like he was barely breaking a sweat!

It wasn't fair, Hazel decided, for someone to look so comfortable so easily. It was doubly unfair when Heather did it.

Heather.

Hazel couldn't even look over at her sister. As tall and fit as always, her freckles were highlighted by a light sunburn that only served to make her look even prettier. She had on a straw hat, a thin sundress, and perfectly matched sandals.

The jealousy almost made her barf.

Sev and Heather were enjoying themselves, though, chatting amicably with the city's locals. It looked so effortless, really, the way the locals just flocked to them; Their accents and fashion and even their looks were fawned over. Boys were buying small snacks and drinks for Heather, and Sev had more than a few men and women trying to chat him up.

So Hazel sat, picking at her food and watching the streets. Everyone here was pretty or handsome or both, somehow, and she was still just. Hazel. Short and chubby and dark Hazel who didn't fit in here. She didn't fit in with her family, either, but that was another point.

Sev and Heather waved her off cheerily when she decided to make her way back to the hotel room.

xxxxx

Georgia was hell. A simple, utter truth that apparently only belonged to Hazel. The heat was wet and oppressive and it never bloody left. Even the night air was muggy and heavy, clinging everywhere.

It had taken all of a single day for her to want to leave, but Sev's conference lasted a whole week, and Heather wanted to spend time after exploring the states. She'd said they were cute and quaint. If cute and quaint meant dreadfully awful, then sure, she'd agree, but it didn't so she definitely didn't.

It was with this mindset that she found herself in Spivey Hall. The main school term was out, so the hall was largely unused. A smile and a twenty note was all it took for the janitorial staff to let her come and go.

The concert hall was large and wonderful and beautiful, curves and lines in all the right places. If she remembered right, it had some of the best acoustics to be had. Rows of plush seats surrounded her, and she was sure that watching a concert here would be more than a little great.

Stairs lead her toward the stage, where a single grand piano sat.

 _A spotlight would serve so well,_ she thought, just picturing it: A lone pianist under the spotlight, long and thin and elegant, surrounded by hundreds of faces in the dark. The thought gave her shivers.

She was so distracted, she didn't notice coming up on the shining stage. But she was there, and the urge to just _touch_ those beautiful ivory keys was too great. She sat as gently as she could, her fingers ghosting over the keys.

Tentatively, Hazel pressed one.

A sad, single note filled the air before fading out again.

Just like that, her heart hurt. Her chest was brimming with _sad_ and _alone_ and _worthless_ and _bitter_ and _ugly_ and _god, why?_ And then she was crying, great wracking sobs and heaves. All she wanted was to be like Heather. She wanted to be pretty and small and friendly. She wanted people to like her and talk to her. To be able to eat less and smile more - to walk around with that same kind of flawless confidence. She wanted the whispers and comparisons to stop.

Her hand slammed down on the keys, a jumble of notes assaulting the air.

She was Hazel - Hazel Linnea Evans, who couldn't even share a last name with perfect Heather Lily Snape and her perfect godfather. Hazel, who didn't even have a godfather, or a father, or a mother.

She slammed both hands down, a cacophony of notes joining her wails.

And again, and again.

Hazel Evans didn't have friends or a family or anything, really, not that was only hers. Heather had everything, and she did everything Hazel could with that same flawlessness that she did everything with.

So she talked to the keys, harsh and gentle, stroking her story out of them.

A story where she made herself pretty. Maybe she wouldn't ever be tall and fair and wild like Heather was, but she could be small, too. She was already working on it. Eating less and jogging more was doing wonders for her, as was her few centimeters of growth.

Confidence sung through her.

Maybe she wasn't a natural like Heather, but she could do this.

She would be pretty. She would.

xxxxx

 **14\. 146 cm. 35 kg.**

Restricting. An older Ravenclaw - _Penelope?_ \- had told her about it. She'd said that it was a little drastic, sure, but that was because people didn't understand it. She needed to keep eating, but she had to restrict it, eating only certain foods. If she carefully calculated her meals, counterbalancing them with work outs, she'd find it incredibly easy to drop the weight.

The thought had scared her, but Penelope and her friends had assuaged her worries with ease. She wasn't starving herself or vomiting, after all. And besides, _they_ had done it, too. Now they sat there, dainty wrists, thin limbs, and eerily wonderful collarbones. Everything looked great on them, and they were happy.

Hazel had nodded, pulling out the new journal she'd bought for herself. Penelope and her gang had taken turns, jotting things down. Recipes for smoothies and snacks, pages full of notes and tips, they'd gotten it all. Hazel's smile was blinding.

xxxxx

 **34 kg.**

Mandi, one of Penelope's friends, had a sister just about Hazel's size. Her wardrobe was full of clothes that she didn't care about, and she was more than willing to pass them onto Hazel. They were mostly sweaters and button ups and leggings, all things that Penelope assured her would continue to fit as she shrank.

Hazel had accepted them gratefully, hurrying them back to her dorm.

She didn't know why she felt ashamed.

xxxxx

 **33 kg.**

"Hay! How's it going?"

Hazel looked up to find Heather perched on the edge of her desk.

"Writing an essay," she replied. "One that you should probably also be working on, you know."

Heather just shrugged, and she noticed that her twin was wearing lipgloss.

"Does Sev know you wear makeup now?"

And she just laughed in that was she did, patting Hazel's shoulder.

"We're teens, now, Hay. I'm more than certain he's expecting it."

"Your funeral."

xxxxx

Heather had apparently been right. Sev was more than happy with his goddaughter growing and moving on, learning new, adult things.

He didn't comment on Hazel's new and improved attire, or her weight loss.

She didn't bother to see if he noticed her leaving.

xxxxx

 **34 kg.**

Binging was Hazel's new worst enemy.

It was almost as bad as her body. Almost.

Food called to her, reminding her of the pitiful pangs her stomach felt. She gave into it, always eating more than she meant to.

She hated it. It made her stomach feel wonderfully happy, but the rest of her was full of disgust and self-hatred. The next day she would eat less, working out for longer. It should have stressed her out, she knew, constantly rearranging her eating schedule because of her slip ups, but it didn't.

She briefly wondered if she was crazy, hunched over her food diary, but the thought was brushed aside quickly. This was normal. People tried to lose weight all the time.

xxxxx

 **32 kg.**

She looked average. She looked average.

Hazel could have cried.

Maybe she was shorter than everyone else, and maybe she was ugly and different, but she was average.

She had her little bit of stomach pinched together in her hands.

Her roommates were out doing who knew what, so this was okay. It was okay to stand there and cry about her shrunken stomach. Maybe she wasn't pretty yet, but she was average, and average was so much better than ugly.

xxxxx

 **31.6 kg**

Penelope was more than happy to help Hazel divest herself of her old clothes, throwing out anything that didn't fit or was terribly out of date.

She felt better, afterwards, clean and new.

It was right before Christmas, so Penelope had gathered funds to restock Hazel's wardrobe. Mandi had pitched in, buying Hazel some basic makeup and teaching her how to apply it.

She picked up a new cardigan for Heather, and a notebook for Sev.

Sev had only given her a few fifty pound notes, telling her to spend it wisely. Heather, noting Hazel's new interests, had gotten her a subscription to some beauty mags and a lipstick set.

Even Tyra and Pansy had bought her small gifts.

It was the best Christmas Hazel had had in seven years.

xxxxx

"Hey, is Hazy here?"

"Hey, Hazel, some-"

"I'll be right out, Penny!" she shouted, shoving her feet in her boots.

Heather only got part way through her goodbye before Hazel was slamming the door shut.

xxxxx

Penelope pulled open the door to the upper year house, gesturing Hazel in. The lights were dark, and music thrummed through her whole body.

"Are you sure I should be here, Penny?" she asked, trying to speak up over the music.

Penny just laughed, patting her shoulder the same way Heather always did.

"Of course, Hazy! You're going to be a Tenny next year, which means you'll be moving over to this house." Penny knelt down, giving Hazel a conspiratorial look. "And I have to introduce my prodigy to her new kingdom."

Hazel watched on in awe as Penny dragged her through the house. Everyone seemed to know her, love her. They were all nice to Hazel, noting her as the girl Penelope's group had taken in. She was directed to Ravenclaw's underground supply chain, Penny pointing out who dealt what and who ran for who. She made it clear to them all that Hazel would be taking over next year, and that they were to treat her like they would Penny.

It went on until Penny pulled her into a small alcove. There was a window bench, and Penny had no qualms about curling herself up on one side. Hazel sat next to her, just enjoying the ambiance. She didn't notice Penny taking in her looks. The two messy buns she had topping her head, the overlarge flannel, black leggings and combat boots, the tank top that clung to the ribs that were just starting to show through.

She did notice when Penny ghosted a hand across her cheek.

Hazel jumped, the touch shocking her out of her reverie.

"Another few kilos and you'll be perfect, you know."

It sounded so matter of fact, the way she said it, like it was the simple, undeniable truth of the world.

"You think so?"

Penny nodded.

"Yep, maybe another few centimeters, too. Short and thin and perfect."

There was something in Penny's eyes that she didn't recognize, but she didn't question it. Penny was just Penny. So when she pulled a tin out of her pocket and popped a few pills in her mouth, Hazel didn't question it. She was a Ravenclaw for a reason, after all.

"Ritalin," she explained, like it didn't matter that she was taking a random prescription drug. "But, I've got something even better for you."

Hazel cocked her head, watching Penny pull out a blue, heart shaped pill.

It sat between them for a moment before Penny explained.

"MDMA. Put it in a pill, and then we call it ecstasy. Give it half an hour, and you'll be happy and full of energy. You'll love it, Hazy, trust me."

And when Penny said _trust me_ like that, she really just couldn't resist.

And when she woke up in a cuddle pile with Penny, Tyra, Pansy, Luna, and five or so other known druggies, well, she didn't think she was going to complain.


End file.
